


Killing Your Number

by nomelon



Category: Wolverine (2009), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)
Genre: Amnesia, Blindfolds, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mutant, Older Man/Younger Man, Prison, Red Room, Superpowers, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On The Island, Logan gets trapped in a purpose-built prison cell with a kid wearing some kind of weird eye-mask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Your Number

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the delightful and all round wonderful dreamlittleyo who is the BEST for taking this on for me.
> 
> A/N: I've been playing with this on and off ever since I saw the Wolverine movie. It's self-indulgent and is absolutely just two characters locked up together for the sake of porn. Nobody's ever written that before, right?

**-1979-**

 

The first thing Logan notices when he comes to is that everything is red. The walls, the floor, the ceiling: all red. There are no windows, and the only light is a muted glow coming from a panel set high in one wall. The second thing he notices is the boy crouched in the corner of the room. The kid's scared, that much is obvious, but he's not cowering. He's just keeping himself small, his palms spread flat against the walls. He's listening intently, moving his head minutely every time Logan makes a sound.

"Hey. Hey, kid. You hurt?"

The kid jolts, jerking his face towards the sound of Logan's voice. They've got him kitted out in some weird metal eye-mask with padding behind it. It doesn't look like a bandage, so it's got to be something to do with whatever this kid's mutation is, keeping him in check maybe, but Logan can't figure why on earth the kid would voluntarily wear something that blinds him. Logan's not great at guessing ages, especially with the mask covering half the kid's face, but his skin is smooth and there's little more than a light dusting of stubble on his jaw, so Logan figures he can't be more than about sixteen. Too young to be in here alone, caged like an animal. Logan curls his lip, thinking of all the very bad, very painful things he's going to do to Stryker the second he breaks out.

"Don't freak out, okay? I'm not here to hurt you. I'm a prisoner. Just like you."

"You're nothing like me."

"Mutant, right?" Logan smirks and makes sure he lets the sound of it leak into his words. "Yeah," he sighs. "If I had a nickel." He has to read the kid's expression from the set of his mouth, but Logan knows a scowl when he sees one. He gets it. The M-word still sounds strange in his mouth, like something from a science fiction novel. He gets closer and squats down to what would be eye-level if the kid could see him, keeping loose, all nice and friendly-like. Then he realises that body language isn't worth a damn here and wonders if he has the kind of voice that's likely to reassure anyone. "Listen, sooner or later somebody's going to be stupid enough to open that door, and when they do, I'll get us out of here."

"Yeah? What can you do?"

"Enough. Don't worry. I'll get us out."

"No, I mean, you're like me, right? A mutant? Otherwise you wouldn't be in here. So, what can you _do_?"

"Oh. Well, I have these..." Logan glances at the back of his hand and for the first time in longer than he can remember his claws seem just a little bit silly. He's never had to explain to somebody in precise and exact terms how much of a freak he is. The claws usually speak for themselves. He reaches out, but pauses before actually making contact. "I'm going to touch your wrist, okay? Don't freak out."

"Stop telling me not to freak out."

Logan figures that at least it wasn't a flat "no". The kid draws back a little, bristling with distrust, but he doesn't complain when Logan hooks two fingers in the cuff of his jacket and tugs. He settles the kid's hand on the back of his own, safely behind the line of his knuckles. The kid's palm is warm and dry, and his hand is steady. Logan clenches his fist a couple of times, double-checking that the kid's hand is back out of harm's way, and he extends his claws. The kid sucks in a breath, going very still as the claws slide out, slow and whisper-soft. There's a sharp pain, just like always, but it's an old pain, and it's one that Logan knows to expect.

"Careful. Don't touch the underside of the blades. They'll take your fingers off."

The kid nods and slides his palm over the back of Logan's hand and along the back of the claws.

"They're warm," he observes. Logan doesn't reply. He just stares at his forearm and wonders how it all works; how his bones are aligned, what extra muscles and tendons he must have, where the claws lie when they're hidden away in there. It's not something he thinks about very often anymore. They've always been there, a part of him -- even if the new gleam of the metal still catches him off guard -- and it's not in Logan's nature to question something he knows can't ever be changed.

The kid taps one claw a couple of times with his fingernail and cocks his head, listening to the faint answering hum of vibration. He feels around carefully, tickling Logan's knuckles and ghosting over the places where the claws sliced through the skin. The tips of the kid's fingers slip between Logan's, testing the tiny human webbing there for a second before drawing back. It feels strange. Intimate. People who aren't Victor or Kayla don't usually get this close once they've seen what Logan really is. It's almost a relief when the kid sits back and blows out a stream of air.

"That's a new one," he says.

"Yeah, well. It's a whole new world." Logan sits back against the wall, wishing he had a cigar, and looks around their cell. There's too much red. It's giving him a headache. He watches the play of light glint along the edge of his claws. "How long you been in here, kid?"

"Uh, a couple of days maybe? You're the first person I've spoken to since they put me in here. I mean, apart from that man. Stryker." Any trace of his good humour vanishes at the mention of Stryker's name. Logan gets it. He knows Stryker all too well, and he can only imagine all the things that have gone on in this house of horrors.

"Then you know the lay of the land. What's the routine? How do they feed you? They ever open the door?"

The kid shakes his head. "No. Never. I don't know. There is no routine. I've just been sitting here, cooling my heels. There's kind of a... sound. I don't know how to describe it. The food just appears." He points. "Over there. If I stand there nothing happens until I move. It comes maybe twice a day. A tray on the floor. Apart from that, nothing."

Logan looks around the cell again. No breaks in the wall. No vents. No windows. Just a small, functional toilet and sink against one wall and two mattresses on the floor, one in each corner. He's sure there's surveillance -- a place like this, there's _always_ surveillance -- but if the kid's right, then they could be in for a very boring time of it until they figure a way out. Logan wonders if he's going to have to rope the kid into faking an illness or something to get them a little attention. Logan's a fan of the classics. Letting a loud argument deteriorate into a fistfight has worked in the past, but he doesn't think anyone's going to buy that he couldn't lay this kid out with one punch.

He can't even tell where it was he attacked the wall when they threw him in here, drugged, disoriented, and mad as hell, trying to slice his way out with little thought or finesse. He can still hear Stryker's amused voice explaining to him that not only were the walls self-repairing, but they were criss-crossed with a massive electrical current. One wrong jab with his claws and he'd be hit with enough juice to fry a normal man right out of his boots. Logan decided he had to try anyway. There was always a chance Stryker was lying.

It turns out it's a good thing Logan's not a normal man.

It's the first time he hasn't been able to bust his way out of anywhere in seconds flat since his adamantium upgrade, and while the tickle in his gut isn't cabin fever, not yet, he's not exactly looking forward to an extended stay.

He's not surprised at the kid's initial reaction, though. Hearing somebody get electrocuted with enough force to throw them across a room would probably do that to a guy who couldn't see what was going on.

He has to ask. "What's with the mask? Are you blind or something? Is that it?"

"Me?" It's enough, apparently, to warrant a smile. "No, sir," he says, making Logan smirk in surprise and feel really damn old into the bargain. "Better than 20/20. It's, uh, well. I'd show you, but that's probably not a good idea."

Logan narrows his eyes. "What can _you_ do?"

"It's like these... blasts from my eyes. Like massive lasers. But I can't switch them off. Ever. I have glasses I normally wear that filter them out, but otherwise..." He gestures vaguely to his face. "I open my eyes, even for a second, and..." He holds up a fist then flicks all his fingers out, miming an explosion, directing the blast away from his face. "It's not pretty."

"Laser beams, huh?" Logan glances at the door, little more than an indent in the uniform red of the wall. "So why don't you break us out of here? I'll take care of the rest."

The kid curls his lip in distaste. "Stryker. He said that the walls in here would deflect anything I could throw at them. I didn't believe him. So I put it to the test and... Well. Notice our distinct lack of furniture."

Logan grits his teeth. Stryker again. Of course it's Stryker. He'd have everything planned down to the last detail. The man's knowledge of mutants -- their abilities and, more importantly, their limitations -- is beyond dangerous. No one man should have that much knowledge at their fingertips, especially if that man isn't a mutant himself. The thought of what Stryker is planning with all his science experiments twists Logan's gut with dread.

"You should try again. Maybe see if you can't get at the seam around the door."

The kid just shakes his head. "There _is_ no seam. Not that I can find. And the blasts don't hurt me directly, but I'm guessing that's why they put you in here with me. I'm not risking it."

"It'd take more than you've got to knock me down, kid."

Logan is pretty sure the kid raises an imperious eyebrow from the way his forehead crinkles, but he sounds perfectly serious when he repeats, "I'm not risking it."

It's a test. It's got to be. Some sick, twisted logic of Stryker's putting a human cannon and a man who apparently can't die in a room together, a room that seems purpose built to hold them. Logan's skin prickles at the thought of the eyes he's sure are on them. He resolves to be as boring as possible until a means of escape presents itself.

The walls, floor, and ceiling are smooth and unmarked; curved red shapes made out of something that feels like plastic to the touch, but there's a little give when he pushes on it. They don't look like anything special, but since when in his world have appearances been anything to go by? He considers all those cages he saw in the basement, holding people who weren't subject to the same rules and weaknesses as regular human beings, and weren't at all used to that kind of treatment.

"Hell of a prison cell," he says in a low voice, remembering the dirt and stench of wooden shacks in the oppressive heat of the midday sun, rats nipping at him while he tried to sleep, Victor chuckling in his ear.

The kid sighs and leans his head back against the wall, looking defeated.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Summers. Scott Summers." Scott holds out his hand to shake, just a little to the left of where Logan is sitting.

"Logan," he says, and has to retract his claws to take Scott's hand. "My name's Logan."

"So, why do you think they put us in here, Logan?"

Logan shrugs. "Looked like a full house downstairs. And I don't think any of those cages are going to hold the likes of you and me. So here we are." He glances around the room again. "Rats in a trap."

"What, uh, what did they do to you?"

Logan waves his hand, feigning boredom, somewhat disgusted with himself. In truth, he'd really rather not talk about it. "There was a fight and a shitload of tranquiliser darts. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in here. And you know how well that went."

"Stryker, he had some goon come get me at my school. Big guy, leaping all over the walls. I tried to get away, but I couldn't even keep track of him. I'd never seen anyone who could move like that before. I tried running, tried fighting back, but he knocked off my glasses and that was all she wrote. I nearly demolished the place in the process." Scott grins suddenly. "Man, I've been wanting to do that for _years_. But then..." His voice gets low and hard. "Stryker showed up. He drugged me and they brought me here. He took some of my blood. I'm not really sure what else he did. I was kind of out of it." Scott rubs absently at the inside of his elbow. "I don't know what he's doing, but did you see that place upstairs? I mean, Jesus. It can't be good. Is that why you're here, too?"

Logan closes his eyes and rubs his fingertips back and forth over his forehead. His headache just got worse. "No," he admits. "I came here myself looking for payback. It didn't exactly go according to plan." He thinks back to his adamantium upgrade and the dozens of needles they jabbed him with, all the tests they did on him that Logan never thought to question, so sure that his body could take anything they could throw at him, his mind only on one thing at the time. "And I think Stryker already has all the samples he's ever going to need from me."

"Man, and this place is _full_ of mutants. You getting a really bad vibe about all this?"

"You could say that." Logan sighs heavily, wondering why Victor is still here and what possible deal he could have struck with Stryker.

"When you get us out of here," Scott says, and Logan doesn't miss the significance of the 'when', "if you point me in the right direction and say when... I can level this place."

Logan decides he likes this kid. He likes him just fine.

No one comes for them that day or the next. At least, Logan thinks it's about two days. His internal clock has always been pretty good, but they're cut off from the outside world. He can't see the sun and the air is stale and recycled. The red glow hasn't dimmed or brightened and there are no controls. He takes cat naps when he's tired, does a lot of push ups, resists the urge to punch the walls, and generally tries not to think too much about anything other than what he's going to do to Stryker when he gets out. The food arrives just like Scott said, appearing out of thin air without any doors or hatches opening. They each get a dry ham and cheese sandwich, a bruised apple, and a plastic cup of water. Logan's nose tells him the food isn't drugged and he doesn't feel any the worse for wear after eating it. The tiny sink gives them more drinking water and lets them get washed, and by unspoken agreement they give each other as much privacy as possible when one or other needs to use the toilet, but there are no pipes that Logan can see, no weak spots in the wall.

There's nothing. No discernible way out. But the thing about this kind of prison is sooner or later somebody always wants something, and for that, they're either going to have to come in or they're going to have to open a door to let him or Scott out.

Logan isn't a patient man, but he knows when to bide his time.

Besides, things could always be worse, even though he knows it's foolish to even think the words let alone say them out loud. He has no faith in superstition but he knows better than to tempt fate. Over the years he's had to share space with people a lot worse than Scott. Scott goes through phases of quiet, keeping to himself, sleeping or sprawling out on his mattress, giving every impression of staring at the ceiling, lost in thought or maybe just counting sheep. Logan guesses he must be pretty good at living inside his own head. He can get chatty, too, though, regaling Logan with tales of high school melodrama that have Logan laughing in spite of himself. He asks questions about Logan's life, nothing that gets too personal, but Logan can see what he's really interested in are other mutants: what kinds Logan has met, what they could do, what it was they wanted.

In Logan's experience, usually what they wanted most was to be left alone.

Scott has some passionate, idealistic thoughts on the matter. He talks of finding other mutants, protecting them, organising, appealing to their better natures about not using their abilities for mayhem and destruction just because they can, whatever their reasons might be. He's all for equality and living in harmony, and no matter how many holes Logan pokes in his ideas he always gamely holds his ground. It's refreshing, seeing someone with that kind of honest belief in something, even if Logan has heard similar ideas bandied around before. He has never put much stock in them himself. In his opinion, it's not the mutation that makes the man. It doesn't matter a person can fly or talk to animals or shoot lightning bolts out of their fingertips: people do what people have always done, and in his experience you never could tell just what that might be. However, Scott doesn't talk in simple black and white. His hopes are tempered with an even-handedness Logan can't help but find appealing, even as it rankles him to be seen as the jaded old cynic.

He's just about got used to having Scott in his space, the clean smell of him all over their cell, the sounds he makes when he's asleep, the occasional unexpected tilt of his smile. It feels like evening time, and Scott is lying on his side, facing the wall, using his rolled up jacket as a makeshift pillow. He's still and quiet, but Logan can tell from his breathing that he's not sleeping. Logan's bored out of his mind and he could cheerfully kill for a cigar or a bottle of whisky. After a lot of pacing and idly trailing his claws over the wall, watching the scratches heal up in his wake -- far too reminiscent of his own skin for his liking -- he eventually gives up and throws himself down on the floor, sprawled out and restless, within arm's reach of Scott's mattress.

He figures it's around midnight, give or take, when Scott gives up on pretending to sleep and rolls over. Logan's not expecting it when he reaches out, stopping just short of touching Logan's face.

"Can I?" he asks.

"You know, you act a lot like a blind guy for someone who can see."

Scott shrugs. "I've had a lot of practice. When there's only a pair of glasses standing between being a normal guy versus a walking laser cannon..."

"What, you don't carry a spare pair? How about contacts?"

"Bite me. You always this nervous about people getting in your space?"

Logan's jaw tightens, knowing full well that he's just been called chicken. "Do your worst."

Scott's fingertips are soft on his cheek, learning him in a way Logan can't begin to imagine. Scott's maybe even more careful than when he'd been examining Logan's hands, millimetres away from razor sharp adamantium. He runs a fingertip down the length of Logan's nose, traces the ridge of his eyebrows, skirts around his hairline, and smiles when he reaches sideburns and stubble that Logan rarely gets around to trimming. He curls his fingers along the line of Logan's jaw, scruffing gently back and forth through the coarse hair, his thumbs brushing over Logan's cheekbones, an oddly intent expression on his face.

Logan's mouth goes dry. He can't move a muscle.

"You know," Scott says thoughtfully, his voice a shade quieter than usual, "I bet you could use those claws of yours to shave."

Logan doesn't say anything. He doesn't even make a joke about the light stubble on Scott's jaw, so light it's probably blond, though it's impossible to tell for sure in the pervading red light. He just scowls, and by the way Scott flashes a grin in return, Logan's pretty sure he's just as good at reading expressions by touch as he is at being a smartass.

Scott shuffles closer, his knee brushing Logan's thigh, tilting his head as his touch strays lower, brushing down over Logan's neck until he reaches his shoulders. Logan sucks in a breath because he's not a fool. Somewhere along the way this little game became a whole lot less innocent. He wishes he hadn't lost his leather jacket somewhere upstairs because all he's wearing is a white wifebeater, leaving his shoulders and his arms bare to Scott's curiosity.

"You're big," Scott says, one hand curled around a bicep, his thumb resting in a dip of muscle. "I could tell. You sounded like a big guy."

Logan grabs at his wrist and stops this game, whatever it is. "How old are you, kid?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Because I'm older than you. A lot older."

"I don't even want to have that conversation. I'm practically eighteen. I'm old enough to know what I want."

Logan squeezes his wrist harder. Scott's pulse is hammering fiercely just beneath his skin. "You don't know me. You haven't even laid eyes on me."

Scott grins again, the little bastard, and Logan has to drag his gaze away from high cheekbones, the sharp cut of his smile, and the flash of even, white teeth. "Why? You trying to tell me you're ugly? You don't feel ugly."

"Hell, no, I'm not ugly. I'm a goddamn handsome son of a bitch."

"And so modest with it."

"How do you know I'm not a spy or something, huh? I don't know. Part of some twisted experiment of Stryker's?"

Scott shuffles closer, stinking of adrenaline and pheromones, making Logan's head spin, getting in close enough for Logan to feel the next words against his skin. "Something to do with the way you were electrocuted clear across the room when you arrived. Plus if you were a spy, trying to get information or whatever, you're not very good at it. Also, in the scheme of things, gotta say I don't think I'm all that important."

Logan is frozen in place, every muscle tensed. He's not going to do this. He's been half hard for this stupid fucking kid since the first brush of skin on skin, but he's not going to do this. He's not going to take what's being offered because Scott _doesn't_ know him. Logan's not a saviour and he's definitely not sanctuary. Their situation is fucked up enough as it is. He's a bad man, and maybe he's trying to do better these days, but that doesn't mean he gets to be selfish just because it suits him.

"How do you know I'm even into guys?" he asks, not at all what he really meant to say, his voice dropped to a rough whisper because anything else is impossible right now. "How do you know I'm into _you_?"

Scott gives a one-shouldered shrug and leans in closer. "I might not be able to see. Doesn't make me blind."

Scott kisses him, his mouth sweet and lush, hitting the corner of Logan's mouth at first. He grins and nips at Logan's lip, and moves in again. Logan means to stop him, he does, but Scott's kiss is eager and demanding, and he tastes so good that every last one of Logan's good intentions fly right out the window. He grabs Scott's arms and pulls him in, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Scott scrambles to get closer, climbing right into Logan's lap, his hands on Logan's shoulders to keep him anchored, his knees settling on either side of Logan's hips. Logan groans, his skin too hot and too tight, and just lets it happen.

Scott kisses with his whole body, and doesn't seem to mind in slightest letting Logan take control. He opens up to it, giving as good as he gets, and makes the most amazing sounds of encouragement every time Logan shifts him around like he doesn't weigh a thing. Scott is no ninety-pound weakling, there's lean muscle hidden away under his clothes, but the fact remains that Logan doesn't usually go for partners this young, and there's an imbalance here that really shouldn't be getting him as hot as it is.

He hooks his hand on the back of Scott's neck and tugs him in to murmur in his ear. "You know they're probably watching us, right?"

Scott shrugs, his breath coming hot and damp on Logan's shoulder. "Let 'em. Far as I'm concerned, it's just you and me." He turns his head and bites at the muscle of Logan's neck, soothing it with his tongue, only to bite down again.

Logan's eyes roll back in his head, his hips bucking up, looking for a little friction. He squeezes Scott's neck and gives him a shake. "Giving up this much trust to people you've just met could end up being a problem in our line of work, you do realise that, right?"

"Maybe I'm a good judge of character."

Logan rolls his hips, making Scott suck in a sharp breath. "Maybe you're just kind of easy."

"I'm bored," Scott says softly, "and I like you." He pulls back, his lips millimetres from Logan's, his hands sneaking under Logan's wifebeater to rest on his belly, his fingertips digging into the muscle. His hips are moving in slow, tight little circles Logan's sure are designed to drive him insane. "Plus you smell really good. It's been kind of all I can think about."

Logan pulls him in and kisses him again, crushing their mouths together. Scott's hands go to Logan's belt, scrabbling at the buckle, making a poor job of it as he can't quite figure it out by touch and he keeps getting distracted by the way Logan is kissing him. Logan gets a hand under Scott's shirt, finding soft, warm skin, and discovers that Scott's kisses stutter to a halt when Logan flicks a thumbnail over his nipple. He bends Scott back over his bent knees. Scott makes a soft noise of dismay at the loss of contact, but it gives Logan the room he needs to get Scott's fly undone. Scott groans, getting with the programme, and leans back further, lifting his hips so Logan can tug down his jeans and shorts just enough to give him room to work.

He kind of wants to shake some sense into Scott, call him a trusting fool and tell him exactly why all of this is a bad idea. Instead he dips his head; the angle is terrible but he can get in close enough to bite at the line of Scott's ribs, then lower, pressing the flat of his tongue to that sensitive spot right on the underside of Scott's dick. Scott leans back, heedless of how he's so unbalanced that he'd fall if it wasn't for Logan holding him in place. His thighs are shaking, his toes pushing against the floor, his hips bucking up helplessly.

"Oh, god," Scott says, breathless. "You're... oh, god." He almost loses his balance, and it makes him swear. "I can't... This isn't... Come with me." He clambers off Logan's lap and tugs him towards the mattress.

Logan settles in beside him. He lays his palm on Scott's belly, not missing how the muscles jump; how Scott twitches every time Logan touches him somewhere he's not expecting. Scott reaches for him, almost poking him in the eye in his haste. He's murmuring, "Come on, come on, come on," under his breath as he strains up, frustrated and looking for more.

Logan doesn't want to get undressed. There's a lot to be said for skin on skin, but preserving a semblance of privacy and being able to get up and run at a moment's notice beat it into third place. He puts his back to the room, shielding Scott as best he can from anyone who might be watching, and tries to put it out of his mind. He doesn't plan on making Scott lose his clothes either, not exactly, so he settles for pulling Scott's shirt over his head and tugging his pants a little further down his hips, and takes his time stroking his hands over Scott's skin, playing with his nipples, petting him until Scott is lying liquid and flushed beside him. Scott bites his lip and arches up, groaning in encouragement and lifting his hips when Logan's touches finally stray further south.

"Have you done this before?" Logan asks, working him slowly.

Scott nods, his nails scratching over the surface of the mattress. "Yeah. Sure I have. Couple of times. But I never-- Oh, god that's good."

Scott's cheeks are stained dark pink; his chest rising and falling rapidly. Logan wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in so his back is pressed up against Logan's chest. He pushes his hips forward, letting Scott feel him. "What about this?" he murmurs.

Scott shakes his head, his hips working back and forth, torn between rubbing his ass against Logan's dick and thrusting forward into the tight grip Logan has on him.

Logan waits a beat then asks, "You want to?"

Scott's whole body goes rigid as he comes, spilling over Logan's fist.

"Don't stop," Scott says as he's still shuddering through the aftershocks, his voice a wreck, reaching back for Logan with shaking hands. "Don't stop. I didn't mean to. Just... gimme a second. I still want to. Don't stop, okay?"

Logan smiles. "Okay. Okay, we can do that. We're low on supplies, but I think we can make it work." He uses his wet hand, sliding in two fingers and working Scott slowly, letting him get used to the feel of it. "Okay?"

Scott nods. "Just go slow, okay?"

Logan presses deep, scissoring his fingers a little and searching for that spot that makes Scott roll his head on the mattress and push his ass against Logan's knuckles.

"Can you take another?"

Scott bites his lip and nods rapidly. It's a tight fit, but Logan takes his time, teasing the muscle, keeping at it until Scott is relaxed and ready for him, lifting his hips, looking for more, his cock blood-red and hard, leaking against his stomach. Logan grunts in encouragement when Scott reaches between their bodies and goes for his buckle again. He has more success this time, and shoves Logan's jeans to his knees. Scott's hands are warm and just as eager as the rest of him.

"Big all over, huh?"

"Well, you know." Logan shrugs. "I work out."

Scott laughs but it trails off into a groan when Logan gives a last twist of his fingers and slowly pulls them out.

"Scott, turn around. Suck me a little first. Get it good and wet."

Scott wriggles around to face him, scooting down on the mattress, trailing his hand down over Logan's stomach to lead the way. Logan's cock slides up Scott's cheek on the first attempt. Scott turns his head to compensate, wrapping his fingers around the base to hold Logan in place, pink tongue darting out to taste. It's been a while, longer than Logan cares to admit, too much pain wrapped up in memories of the last time he was in bed with anyone. When Scott's mouth slides down over him, he throws his head back on the mattress, biting hard on his lip. It takes everything he has not to start thrusting up into that willing mouth, especially when Scott's doing exactly what he was told, getting him wet, taking him as deep as he can, driving Logan crazy with the sloppy-wet heat of his lips and tongue.

Scott breaks off with a gasp. "Is that enough?"

Logan looks down their bodies to the sight of Scott's flushed face turned up at him, a thread of saliva running from the tip of his dick to Scott's pink and swollen lips. Logan can't even get it together enough to answer him. He drags Scott back up the bed and kisses him hard by way of answer. Scott goes with it, toeing off his shoes and kicking his jeans away. So much for not getting him naked, but Logan can't quite find it within himself to complain. He lines up behind Scott, nudges forward, and slips inside. He keeps it as slow as he can, sliding in an inch or so at a time until he's as deep as he can go, Scott twitching and squeezing him like a vice. Scott has gone very still, the ragged rise and fall of his chest his only movement.

"Okay?" Logan asks, needing to be sure.

Scott twists his hips back by way of answer, stealing Logan's breath and making his stomach feel like it's been hollowed out. "Yes," he says, strained and needy. "'m good. Fuck. Move. Just. Just move."

Logan starts to fuck him, keeping it easy at first, letting Scott get used to it, but he gets caught up in the moment, his hands on Scott's narrow hips, riding the burn of his muscles, rocking into Scott and giving him the full length on every thrust, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He gets it together enough to wrap his hand around Scott's cock, and Scott cries out like he's in pain, coming again, all over his own stomach. He clenches hard around Logan, making Logan's thrusts go ragged and uncoordinated until he snarls and bites down on Scott's shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he loses it deep inside.

Scott sucks in air over his teeth as Logan slips out of him. He rolls over onto his back, but he doesn't go far. He has a huge, stupid smile on his face and a bruise blossoming on his shoulder. He can't seem to keep his hands off Logan's chest and his arms, still looking for kisses. Logan would call him on being a cuddler if it wasn't for the fact that it all feels pretty damn good. Logan's got something of an oral fixation himself, so it's not exactly a chore to lie there with Scott curled along his side, blissed out and pliant, trading lazy kisses back and forth.

"Goddamn. Yeah. I didn't think we'd actually... Yeah. Jesus." Scott licks his lips and swallows, his throat working. He looks debauched and totally fucked out. Logan is of the opinion that it's a very good look for him. He wishes he could see the kid's eyes. There's too much hidden away like this, but then again, there's a lot to be said for not having someone look at you, always evaluating, seeing things you'd rather they didn't.

Logan falls asleep, warm all over, more relaxed than he's been in a very long time, and when he sleeps, it's cloudless and he doesn't dream.

 

\---

 

It's Victor who finally opens the door to their cell, wrenching Logan from slumber and back to the real world. It's Victor who growls and snaps when he sees them lying on the same mattress and smells them all over each other. Victor who holds Scott against the wall with one hand wrapped tight around his throat, his claws extended and pressed against Scott's jugular.

Victor never did share well with others.

Logan realises he cares about what happens to this kid, probably too much to be healthy, definitely too much to be safe. He drags Victor away from Scott, throwing him half a room away, snarling and ready for a fight if he has to.

Scott calls his name, busy scrambling into his clothes, no clue what's happening other than it sounds bad and it's finally time for something to happen. Logan would like nothing more than to go another few rounds with his brother -- some things just never get old -- but he sees an opening and he takes it. He grabs Scott and pushes him out the open door, slamming the heel of his hand against a big red button on a panel on the wall outside. He can only hope it's the closing mechanism and not a self-destruct button (in a place like this, that's not exactly something that would surprise him), but as the door slides shut, the last thing he sees is Victor's enraged face as he surges across the cell just a second too late.

They've gained some time, but it's only delaying the inevitable. Victor isn't known for his ability to lie down and take it when he's been beaten, and add to that the fact that he's playing for the opposing team who would no doubt be the guys holding all the keys, and there's really only one way this can to play out. Logan has to hope that Victor will get it and see that he's serious, that this kid is off limits. He never gets the chance to put it to the test. He rounds a corner, and Stryker is there, elbow-deep in his experiments and fanatical meddling, just like always. Logan gets Scott behind him and extends his claws, ready for a fight. The amused look in Stryker's eyes only fuels Logan's anger. Blood and revenge are right at the top of his list of priorities.

But, as always, Stryker has been playing his cards close to his chest. Kayla is here, she's _alive_ , worlds colliding and unravelling, and at Stryker's command she tells him the truth about their past with tears in her eyes and a tremor in her voice. She tells him about her sister, a young girl trapped here like so many others, another mutant in Stryker's collection. Logan can barely stand to look at her. He loved her -- he thought he did, he was so _sure_ \-- but now, despite how much he still wants to go to her, everything is clouded with doubt. There's no way of knowing what was real, no way of knowing for either of them. They've lost something they can't ever get back, and the thought of it breaks his heart.

Victor reappears, standing with Stryker, smug and ready for a fight, and this is the quiet time. Logan is all too aware that things are about to go south fast.

"Point me in the right direction," Scott says quietly, just for Logan to hear, and Logan is too tangled up in hurt and confusion and anger to get what he means at first. "Logan, do it. Tell me when."

The blast from Scott's eyes sends Victor smashing through the wall and Stryker running for cover. It's raw, untempered power, and Logan is suddenly very glad that Scott didn't try unleashing it while they were still locked in their prison cell. Logan grins, though it feels brittle and wild on his face, because this time he's not alone. This time he has an ally. He still has tight hold of Scott's wrist and he's not letting go for anything.

They run, Kayla tailing close behind, looking for an exit, and they end up a few levels down, surrounded by cages filled with mutants of every description, most of them little more than children. Logan breaks open every last cage, one long swipe of his claws bestowing freedom to dozens of prisoners. He sees Kayla reunited with her sister, sees her joyful tears and the silent, grateful smile of thanks she sends his way. He watches them and he thinks of all the things he's done over the years for Victor, all the things that still give him nightmares, and he wonders if he has the right to be angry with her for doing what she felt she had to.

The moment doesn't last long. The huge doors to the outside world and blessed freedom open... and Stryker's secret weapon makes his grand entrance. Logan would dearly like to know just what in the holy hell they've done to Wade. Logan's claws extend on instinct because he knows trouble when he sees it. His heart sinks when Wade responds by extending a worryingly familiar blade of his own.

"Kayla, get these kids out of here. Find another way out."

They're already moving, but one figure remains at Logan's side, and seeing as he's the one person who can't see to get himself out of there, Kayla's sister, that pretty little blonde thing, hangs back too, looking torn. The second Kayla notices, she's going to turn back too, which means the kids won't have anyone to lead them out of there, and they all really need to be out of the line of fire already. Logan can't do everything. He has some other pressing shit he needs to be dealing with. Wade may be blessedly silent, what with that whole not having a mouth thing he's got going on, but the cold look in his eyes is hardly reassuring.

"You need some help?" Scott asks.

Logan kind of wants to kiss him. Instead he says, "Don't worry about me, kid. I'm the best there is at what I do."

"Let me stay with you," Scott says earnestly. "Let me help."

Logan does kiss him, hard and fast, because fuck it all if life isn't too short to live with regret. He pushes Scott after the others, tells him to level the place for real if he gets the chance, and Scott answers him with a grin. Logan squeezes his wrist and lets him go. He gives Kayla's sister a look that says get gone, fast as you can. She doesn't look back. Smart girl.

It's time to face the music.

"Wade, is that you? I guess Stryker finally figured out how to shut you up."

When Wade attacks -- silent and focused and deadly, with an annoying habit of not dying no matter how much damage is done to him -- Logan decides he kind of misses all the smart-mouthing.

He lures Wade to the top of a cooling tower, and it turns out that family is still the one thing that might actually mean something to Victor.

"Nobody kills you but me," Victor says when he appears just in the nick of time to save Logan from a very long fall, and Logan can't help but appreciate the sentiment. They stand back to back like they haven't done in a long time, and they work together.

It's a hell of a fight; the odds certainly not stacked in their favour. Logan loses track of how many mutations Stryker and his team have stuffed into one body, but he recognises a lot of them, so many fallen soldiers. When Wade breaks out the laser beams that could easily level a city, that heat Logan's claws white-hot and make his bones feel charred and molten under his skin, Logan decides he could be perfectly happy if he never sees the colour red again as long as he lives.

It's almost too easy fighting at Victor's side, old habits ingrained over lifetimes keeping them in synch, keeping them alive, but fighting an opponent who can be everywhere at once has its drawbacks. Logan drags himself back to the top of the tower after being pitched over the side, and Victor is down, which means all Wade's attention on him. Logan seizes the moment, leaps, slashes, and it's all over. They watch Wade fall, and he looks so small, far too fragile to have contained all that raw power.

There's something not right about how the laser beams don't stop even when Wade's head has been separated from his body, spiralling down, bringing the cooling tower crashing down around them.

Logan gets his face-off with Stryker, and he's ready, willing and able to do very, very bad things to the man. Stryker's taken enough from him, used him, twisted up his sense of what's real and what's not. He's damned if he's going to let Stryker fuck with him or any other mutant ever again. He wants to know that it's over, that the kids got out of here safely. He wants to know that Scott is safe. Kayla's hurt, hurt badly, and he wants to get her to hospital. He wants to walk out of here with her, and he wants his life back. If that means he has to kill this evil son of a bitch to do it... Logan has absolutely zero problem with that.

He's robbed of the opportunity when Stryker shoots him in the head at point blank range and the world fades to black.

 

\---

 

He wakes up and his entire life is gone. He has a killer headache, he can smell smoke and dust and death all around him, but he doesn't know where or who he is. He doesn't recognise any of the faces he sees; doesn't trust anyone who calls themselves "friend".

He doesn't know his own damn name.

The dog tags around his neck say _Logan_. They also say _Wolverine_.

Logan decides he likes the sound of that. He likes the sound of that just fine.

 

\---

 

**-2000-**

 

Years later he still doesn't know who he was, but he's damn sure of the man he is, and he's never liked waking up in strange places with no idea of where he is or what's happened to him. Doesn't matter that the place looks fancier than hell, or that all signs point to it being a school for gifted youngsters. Logan's gut tells him to run, so he runs, looking for an exit, not quite able to figure out where the danger is but sure it's only a matter of time until it rears its head.

He comes face to face with a man in a pair of red sunglasses in the hallway. Logan sees a tremor go through him, followed by a sharp spike of adrenaline and pheromones heady enough to hit Logan with a sense memory so strong it takes him a couple of seconds to recover. Logan puts it down to the guy having a major case of jealousy over his seriously hot girlfriend and lets it go.

He doesn't find out until later that the geek with the red glasses is called Summers, and that he figures himself for some kind of leader. He's an arrogant son of a bitch who lives to give Logan shit; always watching him like he knows something Logan doesn't. There's no way in hell Summers is good enough for the likes of Jean.

Logan decides he doesn't like the guy. He doesn't like him at all.

**Author's Note:**

> <http://nomelon.dreamwidth.org/196064.html>
> 
>   
>  <http://nomelon.livejournal.com/218251.html>


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